


Song of the Flowers

by crimsondust



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Canon Era politics, February/March 1832, Feuilly Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 05:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8316373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsondust/pseuds/crimsondust
Summary: For Feuilly week. Enjolras and Feuilly walking around streets of Paris.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to PilferingApples for beta reading and for encouraging me.  
> If there are any mistakes they are all mine.

 

Enjolras and Feuilly were working on a pamphlet one winter morning as the dim sunlight streamed through the window. They were seated at a small table surrounded by books and documents.

‘It’s Nicholas I, not Alexander I.’

Enjolras looked at the document and scratched the word out.

‘Though, Alexander I was his predecessor and also titled himself as the King of Poland while severely restricting liberties, so I can understand where the confusion may arise, but Nicholas I is responsible for Poland struggling for nearly a year before falling under the hands of the Russians. France could have helped them, instead we stood by and watched the rebellion fail. The aristocrats in power in this country were like marble stones, unmoved to tears or pity while they let it happen, they are the same ones who let Louis-Phillipe in as well. They will have a lot to answer for to the people.’

‘Should we modify the phrasing? Many of our audience will not care if the subject does not concern them in particular.’ Enjolras put down the pen and read the letter again as the soft light touched his golden curls. Feuilly, who had been gazing at him with a tender look, as he worked silently, stared ahead at the little bit of plaster peeling off the café wall before speaking.   

‘I believe such language is required. Poland’s and even Greece’s struggles continue to be ignored, we need a harsh reminder to the people and to the bourgeoisie. They must not forget the fact that they are living under a king still, there’s been a change of names, Charles X to Louis-Phillipe, Alexander I to Nicholas I, the parallels are clear. We must remind the people about Poland, remind them how she’s struggling against the tsars. It is relevant to them because the people of France must not cease their struggle against the monarchy, just as Poland continues to do so.’ Feuilly became silent after that energetic burst during the speech, a pink flush rising to his cheeks. He looked embarrassed at having spoken with this much fervour.   

Enjolras nodded as he finished putting the final touches to the document.

‘Enjolras, a few of my acquaintances wish to meet. I told them to come today, even though the rest of our friends could not be here, because that’s the only day off they have. I think I hear them coming now.’

A few hesitant steps echoed down the corridor and two men dressed in factory workers’ clothes came into view. 

Enjolras pushed away the letter he was working on and turned towards them.

‘My name is Jean Larrimé, Monsieur,’ one of the workers began as he took off his hat and sat down awkwardly in a chair, ‘I’m only a poor tanner.’ He hesitated again.

‘Whatever it is, you can say openly. We are all friends and equals. What is it, Citizen?’

‘I get by with what I make and my two elder boys, one 16 and the other 14, great kids, hardworking, also bring in a little money. But some others at the factory are not so fortunate, you know Jacques Laquerre?’ The question was directed at Feuilly who nodded.  

‘He is laid up in bed, sick and feverish because he’s been working these past 14 years without so much as a proper leave. There are 8 children and they are all younger than my boys. His wife stitches and sews garments for ladies and they are trying to live on what little she’s making. But the owner hired someone else in his place yesterday, they can’t live without his wages. There are other workers too who have been told to leave, now I’m not much in the way of politics. I keep to myself.’ He gave a nervous laugh, ‘But sometimes, a man’s, had too much you know.’

 Enjolras nodded in acknowledgement for the man to continue.

‘Rumour’s been going around at our factory that if all of us workers gather in large numbers, they can sack us without pay, so we daren’t do anything. But I can’t stand by and watch anymore.’ He put his fist on the table more energetically than he had intended, ‘I can afford to think about politics because I have bread and so shouldn’t I? We must care about our brothers as the bible says. What you’re trying to work towards is something that appeals to me, and Jean Arnaud here agrees.’ He looked towards his friend who was sitting beside him and had spoken no word since they had arrived. At the mention of his name, Jean Arnaud inclined his head ever so slightly. 

‘We do welcome you then, Citizens.’

‘But it is risky, what you’re doing, isn’t it?’

The man called Jean Arnaud, threw back his head and laughed, ‘It is treason, if you are caught.’

His friend, although of a formidable stature and build himself, shrank at the words as if they were a sudden blow to him.

Arnaud continued, ‘Well, what of it? You may die of starvation and your children be thrown out into the streets for the poor wages. Is it not right, we should want a change of regime? I have no family, Monsieur but when I was a child my mother and I would often have nothing for days, I have a bad cough because I’ve been working in factories all my life, consumption, the doctors call it and suggest moving to a better climate but I can’t afford that, none of us can. We need a revolution. Overthrow the Monarchy, bring back 89, we tried it again and nearly succeeded two years ago, we have to keep trying.’

‘But the act, the act…if it comes to the events of 93.’ Larrimé wrung his hands at his friend’s speech, as if in agony. He found the calm hand of Enjolras on his shoulder.

‘Citizen, we stand against the oppression of the people at the hands of a few. The Republic which we dream of is to be founded on the basis of reason and equality. This is a great undertaking, for we fight against this mantle of injustice which will not change unless it is thrown off. We wish to throw away that oppression of the ruling classes. Citizen, we believe in a bright future for everyone. If that is wrong, then we are wrong.’ Enjolras paused and Feuilly could see that Larrimé was pondering the question carefully.

‘We are neither supporters of violence nor of barbarity. On the contrary we would argue that the present system breeds violence, when people die of starvation every day, when hunger has been tasted by every lip, when there appear cracks in the law and society which punish the oppressed and the weak but not the oppressor, when the bourgeoisie get richer by the sweat of the workers. Feuilly, you spoke a truth when you said that it is that the workers who are the most neglected, have the hardest time rising. It is a system of violence and oppression that seeks to keep us down with our heads bowed, silent and unquestioning, for how can a man question when his family is starving and he has been denied knowledge and education all his life?’ Enjolras ceased speaking and his rose red lips closed.

Feuilly could not help but notice the fact that Enjolras had referred to him as vous in the presence of all the others. He felt a little hint of a disappointment which he tried to hide.

Jean Larrimé was nodding eagerly, ‘Arnaud was reading me some of your pamphlets as well. You make good points in your speech and in the writings, Monsieur.’

‘Please, Enjolras, Citizen. No need to stand on ceremony, we’re workers like you. I hope we are friends, I certainly consider you as one.’ 

There was a solemn shaking of hands and promises to meet and Jean Larrimé and Jean Arnaud departed.  

‘Do you want to accompany me to the printer shop? I think we can get this letter published today, my uncle is away on business so we shall have the run of the place to ourselves. I want to show you how the press works. We bought a new printing press last year with a single printing plate. Most of our presses are several years old and with a moveable type, I’ve grown quite fond of them even though they need to be handled with extra care.’

Feuilly smiled, Enjolras had gone back to the more familiar tu between them very easily. He slid out of his seat gathered up his books in his bag and took his coat from the stand where it was hanging. He brushed a few loose threads from it, before putting the coat and his hat on, Enjolras was doing the same.

‘You shouldn’t wear the hat; it doesn’t flatter your appearance.’

Enjolras who was deeply absorbed in thought ran his hand absentmindedly through his curls. Still, he put away the hat as they walked downstairs.

‘It is a beautiful day.’ Feuilly remarked as they started walking out in the open air while carriages and carts rattled past them on the busy street. They were walking on a street lined with blocks of houses, one of which carried The White Boar sign above it, which no doubt belonged to an inn and several faded posters advertising various sundry items on the walls.

‘After that cold January winter, it’s wonderful feeling the sun on my skin, perhaps we shall see the flowers soon as well. Speaking of flowers, Enjolras…’ his gaze was arrested by a couple of gamin walking and laughing with each other.

The correct description of their walk would be gambolling around but here we shall not quibble over terms. The streets of Paris were their habitat and there they roamed like free birds.

His description of flowers may not apply very accurately to these particular gamins. It is possible that he was referring to their faces which still carried some traces of innocence however, their eyes were sharp and their tongues were free in spouting argot and curses. As soon as the eldest of them heard Feuilly speak Enjolras’ name, he came towards them.

‘Enjolras?’

Enjolras turned towards the gamin, ‘I am he, what do you want?’

‘Nothing from you, smooth face.’    

‘What’s your name, you little cheek?’

‘Mind your business, uncle. If you wish to report complaints, come later. I have a letter for you, from someone called Bahorel.’ The gamin handed him a letter and in the very same instant, Enjolras espied fingers reaching towards his and Feuilly’s wallets.

‘If you had waited, we would have given you money for your trouble. Here.’ Enjolras dropped a twenty sou piece in the elder one’s hands. ‘This is for both of you. Wait, tell us your names and where we can find you.’

They ran away with the silver piece in their hands, while tearing posters of advertisements from walls and making variations of different noises with their tongues to catch the attentions of a stray cat.

Enjolras and Feuilly heard them call each other Gavroche and Navet. The one called Gavroche was walking near enough to them. He was careful to not step on the cracks in the cobbled streets while he counted slowly, one, two, three, if he did the other would call him out on it and would take his turn, some childish game as children still play, even gamin. He would disappear from view from time to time, his voice still came to their ears, sharp in its tones but with a slight lisp, singing a little ditty that he seemed to have made up,

A long time ago in Paris, this great city

We met when we were young, carefree and jolly

Full of hopes and dreams that were all for free

Vive Nos Amis Nos Amis Nos Amis

 

We laughed, we sang, we danced with joyful glee

Had a lark and ate some bread with brie

A long, long time ago in Par-ieee

 

We were penniless but went often to the theatre gallery

And ruffled a few feathers of the bourgeoisie (eeee)

A long, long time ago in Par-ieee

Times change but you may always find us here, mon ami

 

And now, once a week I go to visit my family

This duty I pay rather cheerfully

But I am a spirit of the streets, no net ensnares me

A spirit of the streets of Par-ieeee

 

My home’s in the Elephant, come anytime Cherie

There are rats about but they won’t bother us, you’ll see  

Have a heart of gold, who cares about money

I’m a resident of this great city (eeee)

 

I’m always ready with a joke and a repartee

I can take you down with insults, but they are not free

My office is closed for business, thank you Madame for the fee

If anyone asks, I’m Gavroche from Par-ieee 

 

So here’s to this friendship this long amity

And a toast to a changing world that red horizon I see 

The stuffy royalists full of rage, look how they flee

Vive Nos Amis Nos Amis Nos Amis

 

This is a glorious time for citizens to be free

If there’s a fight, no matter the outcome will be

I’ll join the crowds, I’ll shout with glee

Vive Liberte liberte liberte

 

‘I wish they hadn’t run away so fast, I would have liked to have gotten to know them better,’ Feuilly said as he wondered whether to smile or laugh or feel sad for the young gamin and he contended himself by showing all three emotions on his face while there was a semblance of a smile on Enjolras’ lips as he opened the note.

‘Anything important?’

Enjolras laughed as he read the paper. Written in Bahorel’s hasty scrawl were a few indecipherable words.

‘What is it?’ Feuilly asked.

‘‘Bahorel is unable to meet us for lunch but is prepared to sacrifice his Sunday evening, after much deliberation, to the society’s business, his words, not mine, and will meet us at Corinthe later.’  

They walked and turned towards Rue Saint Jacques and a Parisian shop that was hidden in a narrow alley from the main road. There they purchased a newspaper and browsed the shop. Feuilly gazed at some of the titles, smelling the pages, he liked to come to this shop on his days off just to browse the new arrivals, the shop owner knew them both very well, he had Republican sympathies and stocked books that often appeared on the banned lists. For this he had been fined on some occasions.

‘I was talking to Combeferre about the gamin. I see a few of them every day on my way to work. I know some work in factories as well. I was thinking, we should work on instructional pamphlets, something to help with their education. I see myself as a young boy in those gamin and but for the fortunate circumstances of being able to teach myself painting and reading, I might be living on the streets still. I wish to teach others to do the same.’

Enjolras nodded, ‘You inspire me, dear Feuilly and I say that with the deepest sincerity and admiration. Yes, I admire you, your hard work and courage. I have been considering this idea as well. After all, education must be free and accessible for everyone for us to march towards progress. France needs all its citizens to have the same opportunities, one should not be barred from education simply because he is born the son of a tanner and does not have the means to purchase an education. These children are the future and our hope for a better country, a just and an equal society. They must not be allowed to waste their childhoods on the streets of Paris, singing songs. No matter how amusing the songs are.’

Feuilly stopped to hear a street musician play a tune on his flute. Enjolras smiled as Feuilly tapped his feet in time to the tune.

‘I have heard this tune.’ He said as the song ended and they gave the musician a ten sou piece before they started walking again. ‘This was a song my mother and I used to sing. I can’t believe I remember it still. It was a long time ago.’ He brushed away a few tears from his eyes quickly.

They crossed Boulevard Montparnasse and turned into a much narrower street while people hurried past them.

‘I have something for you. Call it an early birthday present.’ Feuilly took out a fan from his pocket.

‘I made it for you. I made each of you one, this one’s yours. I thought you would appreciate the joke.’

There on the front of the fan was an insolent statue of a king which was on the verge of toppling down by the joint efforts of people gathered around it. He laughed.

‘This is a great present, Feuilly. Thank you.’ Enjolras’ eyes grew soft and warm and his voice choked up a bit. Feuilly in return gave him a smile; in that communication was ensconced gratitude and its acknowledgement, each exchanged silently.

‘I was thinking of sending this drawing to La Charivari as well, they will find this amusing.’ He said grinning.  

Enjolras listened pensively as they kept walking and Feuilly described how he intended to go about educating children. His light brown eyes were shining, as if he possessed a seer’s gift and could see that future unfolding.   

 

**Author's Note:**

> The song they are singing is loosely based on the tune from this song from 1815. It is in French, but generally speaking it is anti-monarchy and not very flattering to them. :P:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDO5TS48Ikw


End file.
